writing as a love form
Do you know how I love to write? Upside down in a train car traveling along the coast. Naked in the sun, my reflection dancing off a pitcher of ice water. Next to the hairy man munching his bagel and lox, as if he is auditioning for a life-size game of pac-man. Bottoms up at the turquoise painted mezcal bar in the presence of bottles passed through the hands of artisans adorning the shelves. Do you know when I love to write? When I am steaming with anger, my body hard as a rock from tension yet to release. When my belly is full of Thai green curry with eggplant still stuck between my two front teeth. When the neighbor’s boy thinks it’s funny to light off three am fireworks on the seventh of July. Do you know where I love to write? At the laundromat, to the beat of the dryer drums. In the hammock, still in my damp bikini, gently swinging under giant palms. Nestled in the nook on the cliffside suspended over the sea. In my bed, one leg in, one out, with my back against the stacked pillows and my lamp lit halfway. Do you know what I love to write? About the cake I’ll shove in my lover's mouth on our wedding day. About the pain I might feel if I were an ant of the lowest ranking. About the ocean that lives in your eyes taunting me to hop in and stay a while. About the west facing windows transforming into gold at the Sun’s command. Do you know why I love to write? Because the frenzy of thoughts might eat me alive. Because there are pictures I’d like you to see, but have no photograph to show you. Because someone once told me my last name sounded like an author’s. Because words, similar to puppy breath or the first bite of watermelon on a quintessential summer’s day, can bring a complete stranger a sense of comforting warmth. Because writing is free.
POP!
What is the point, if not to dwell in the golden sun.
If not to taste the sour twinge of desire released in every chomp of peach.
If not to throw your body into the depths of the ocean, all cares dislodging with a pound in the shorebreak.
If not to lose track of time, better yet, reality, getting lost inside the twists of a novel.
What is the point, if not to live fully, forcing air into the ballon, until it stretches and explodes with a loud
pop!
mile marker seventeen
Roots tunneling deep in the moist, dark crumbles of the earth,
pull me to spaces of familiarity, of sailboats
and cheese that drips, pooling thick on my hot plate
nestled next to the side of rice and beans.
Scents of cedar and bbq smoke buzz in the blue sky,
until they collide with the puffy white clouds.
I’ve never seen a sky with so many different types of clouds,
they must lead the captains on their way, as mile markers do.
Cicadas call out to me as the mozzies take flight
through air dense with sticky heat, swarming my freckled skin.
My eyes fixate on dancing light at the end of each dock,
moving slowly with each wake, settling with the sun,
Her curtains dropping.
Boats tuck into their slips just as I lay to rest entangled in linen sheets.
Subtle shoreline crashing and nighttime fliers lull me to sleep.
My mind needs not to dream,
after a day, well enjoyed, by the lake.
I love you to the sun and back.
All ten toes in the dirt.
Feet stomping, my shell adorned anklet jingling along.
Vision of an endless horizon before me,
my hands held atop yours.
Scent of what must be love blows across the tip of my nose
and down my cheeks.
A kiss from me, to you, and back to the sun.
Your curls backlit by the afternoon glow.
Solidifying salt encases our grasp, sealing in this moment of time.
A kiss from you, to me, and back to the sun.
Our smiles merge into one
as the colors smudged across the sky call out
to what feels like the whole entire, heavy world
here to witness us, only us.
I say, I love you to the sun and back.
You say, you love me to the sun and back.
For a lifetime thereafter,
a kiss from the sun, to us, and back again.
my heart forgives
When the world teaches you that your mind and your heart are one in the same, what does it mean when they say different things? There are moments my mind and my heart are in agreement. These moments, very few, bring immense joy and clarity. The reality, though, is a duel between my heart and my mind. They butt heads in the morning when I first open my eyes. My heart leads my hand in a furry across the blank page, dreaming and wishing. My mind intervenes with a wave of fatigue, a demand to close the journal and allow pressing thoughts to sweep over those dreams. At lunch, my heart yearns for a peach, dripping of juice that solidifies into a sticky substance on the skin of my forearm. The mind decides to starve. When dinner approaches my heart envisions my hands kneading a mound of yellow corn masa, carefully rolling, then pressing, and ultimately, flipping into thoughtfully formed tortillas to accompany a spread fit for a fiesta. My mind, duels. It decides to order takeout, not to stress the body any more than it already is. Stay put, stay sedentary, stay scrolling, it says. Moments before drifting to sleep, my heart cries for help. It screams for acknowledgement, first, then like a switch, it forgives my mind. It forgives my mind for missing the sunrise, the sunset and for leading me through a dull day. In return for its forgiveness, my heart pleads for a better tomorrow. My mind agrees, in that very last moment of consciousness, until the morning, my eyes crack open and it seems the mind has forgotten my heart’s gracious plea. The duel begins again.
at a color’s call
Colors are calling for me.
Come let my mangos feed your eyes with sweet, sticky marigold juice, they say.
Feel my blues with a swift caress of thick glass
dripping condensation from the balmy air, heavy with warmth.
Lay on the ground, gaze up at my greens swaying with the sea breeze.
Terracotta will support your feet
dancing, cooking, lounging, tidying up, reading.
Let my dusty tans lead you through the cactus fields.
Get lost along the way.
Flirtatious pinks will kiss you, subtle surprise, both morning and evening.
The sun loves to play in my golden hues.
Deep browns filtrate your nostrils, perking up your sleepy bones
with the strongest coffee beans you can taste.
Seafoam washes over your mind, a blanket of ease.
My oranges serve you plates from your abuelas kitchen down the street.
While, deep purple stains your company’s teeth,
laughter scatters droplets of wine across the checkered tablecloth.
Become wrapped in my grays under the palapa, taking shelter from high desert heat.
Red rests patiently in ice filled jugs of jamaica awaiting your thirst.
And, if you stay long enough, my colors will take care of you.
For my colors say they long for your heart, and your heart longs for them.
salty salud
To the golden sparkles dancing in harmony with the elegant ripples on the horizon's surface.
To the whispering breeze kissing your sunburnt cheeks, speaking of omens and tales and magic and lust.
To the sea foam bubbling between your toes, sore from sinking into the cool, plush ground,
littered with holes home to creatures scouring beneath.
To the love laced within the moments between balmy sets.
To the rickets of cracked shells moving in, then out, at the tide’s request.
To the grain of sand taking flight through the thick, salty air,
finding refuge with the freckles painted, in no particular pattern, across your sticky skin.
To the salt, to the sea, to you, to me, to the sun and back,
Salud.
strung on a golden chain.
I wear a pearl around my neck.
It hangs with ease just above the curve of my breasts.
A golden chain keeps it in place, secure and safe, throughout my daily activities.
Swimming, cooking, showering, cleaning, kissing, driving and all of the rest.
Sometimes, when the light is just right,
I look down at the pearl and see a kaleidoscope of colors.
It’s funny to think, this fossil, doomed to a life stuck in a closed shell,
resting in rock encrusted parts of the sea,
releases this much light when given the chance.
And then it dawns on me.
In the darkest of crevices, light can reach.
Just as, even in the lightest of places, darkness can reach.
It is a balancing act, learning to grab for the light whilst fending off the dark.
For some this is easy.
For others, like this pearl, they must be plucked from their dark space
and hung on a golden chain for light to find.
A life touched by light is possible for all creatures, artifacts and thoughts,
down to the deepest of pearls.